Can't Breathe Without You, Baby
by FerryBerry
Summary: ON HIATUS. When Finn comes down with the flu, Mr. Schue is left with two performers and no choice but to forfeit. One of the girls may have other ideas...
1. No Finn

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**A/N:** This was actually the very first Faberry fic I ever started writing, but I was too embarrassed to post it. But some evil bitch troll I know who will not be named dared me to (you know who you are) so in your face. ;) I'm closest to posting a new chapter of 'Color Me Confused', if anyone is wondering. As far as this one, I'm not continuing it unless there is sufficient interest—and I understand if there isn't, because this isn't the greatest piece of work I've ever done.

**No Finn**

Will was out of options. Sue had stolen all of his kids save for three, which might not have been a problem if it was, say, Kurt, Mercedes, and Puck. Or Mike, Tina, and Artie. Or even Santana, Brittany, and Matt. But no. She had left him with one of—scratch that—_the_ worst combination imaginable: Quinn, Finn, and Rachel.

It was bad enough that Finn and Quinn were dating and she was pregnant. That relationship brought a level of awkwardness to every performance that, fortunately, could be drowned out by the presence of the other ten glee clubbers. With only one, it would be overwhelmingly obvious in its existence. It was also bad enough that Finn and Rachel clearly shared a bond of some sort. That also brought some tension to performances that Will could occasionally harness, and it worked for a song like this. But the worst part was Quinn and Rachel.

They didn't even get along _outside_ of their competition for Finn's affections. Once, he'd tried to pair them for an assignment and Quinn argued with him for thirty minutes before he made it clear there was no switching for anyone. And then Rachel came to him outside of glee and _asked_ him to let her change partners. He'd given in eventually, since he couldn't have Rachel the drama queen _and_ Quinn the queen bee angry with him. He would never sleep again.

Will had thought things were getting better between them. For a brief while, they seemed almost civil, even. It wasn't like he saw them hanging out together in the hallways or anything, but when Quinn came in for glee, Rachel would acknowledge her with a nod. And even though Quinn rolled her eyes, she nodded back. But things had recently taken a dive for the worse, and he wasn't sure why, but he knew there was absolutely no way he could do '_No Air_' with them as his only remaining girls and Finn his only remaining boy.

"Why not?"

"Because they'll kill each other," he told Emma, shaking his head. "And Sue knows it. That's why she's taken away all my kids except for them."

It was the last class of the day, and on Tuesdays, this was his planning hour. But he really needed Emma's counsel on this one, even if it did pain him to be around her now that she was engaged to someone else. He just didn't know what else to do, and she'd always been his voice of reason.

"Well, they've worked together before, haven't they?" she asked curiously. "They did that mash-up, and that was pretty close contact. Maybe they can pull this off."

Will smiled pityingly at her. She just had no idea.

"Trust me, they can't. Especially not with Finn in the middle of it," he replied. He sighed in frustration. "I just don't know what to do."

"Maybe you should pick a different song; one that will involve all three of them. But a less…competitive one," she suggested brightly.

"I can't. There's no way we'd be ready in time with a different song. And I can't split the female lead. Rachel would go ballistic and it would only make things worse competition-wise. Believe me, you don't want to see those two with their claws out."

He shook his head of the image of the two at each other's throats. They were both a bit intimidating when they were mad, and he shuddered to think of how bad it would be when they were adults. He pitied the men they ended up with—they wouldn't win one argument.

"And I can't agree to Sue's ultimatum and stoop to her level like that. I won't. I'm out of options, and that's exactly what she wanted," he grumbled, tearing at his hair.

"Have you tried getting one of the other kids to come back to your group?"

Will sighed. "I can't get anyone from the original group Sue picked, and Brittany would be no help. I tried talking to Puck, but he kept talking about some kind of rainbow tent or…I didn't really understand him." He paused. "Although he did keep asking if Rachel being Jewish offended me."

Emma smiled in amusement. "I guess you're going to have to do the number with just them, Will." He sighed, so she added, "Why don't you sit them down and talk to them about it? I'm sure they'll understand once you explain you don't have any other options."

"They're teenagers, Emma," he said flatly.

"Yes, I know, but Quinn and Rachel and…Finn—to some extent, at least—have shown they can be very mature when the situation calls for it," she said encouragingly. "Just try talking to them. They'll understand."

He sighed heavily again, glancing at his watch. "I hope you're right. I'd better go. They're…probably waiting."

Emma smiled at him and he tried his best to offer one back, although he was sure it came out a little stiff. He supposed this was why Sue was getting to him so badly. Every other part of his life was being controlled for him, and glee was the one place he'd felt like he was the one calling the shots. It was stable and safe, a place to let loose. Now she'd taken over that, too.

Just like Ken had taken over his relationship with Emma; and Terri had taken over his relationship with his baby. And Kendra had taken over his relationship with Terri. Will was sick of it, really. And he knew it was selfish, but he wanted to be able to enjoy being around Emma without having to worry about Ken getting jealous or angry with him. In fact, he was scared that was going to happen. That he would lose his friendship with Ken, too.

It wasn't like they were that close, or anything, but Ken was one of his only guy friends, and one of his only allies on the staff as far as glee club went. He always made sure the football players had time to fit both in, and Will never had to worry about him attempting sabotage or anything like that. He would hate to lose that safety zone.

Will's thoughts on the rest of his life came to a halt when he arrived at the choir room door. And then he heaved an exasperated sigh. Finn was nowhere in sight, but Quinn and Rachel were there. On exact opposite sides of the room. Rachel had her iPod ear buds in, and she was currently scrolling for another song while she sat with her feet up on another chair. Quinn was texting.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he said as he entered, pulling the sheet music out of his briefcase.

Quinn glanced up and then turned back to her phone without ceasing her typing. Rachel had evidently found a song and didn't hear him, as evidenced by the fact that she was now head-bopping and mouthing the words.

Will took a deep breath and said, louder, "Hello, girls!"

Rachel jumped and tugged her headphones out of her ears, then smiled brightly at him. Quinn rolled her eyes at the brunette. Or maybe it was at him. He wasn't really sure, because she said, "Heard you the first time."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Schuester," Rachel said politely.

Well, at least they were just ignoring each other. Instead of tearing each other's hair out. Will leaned against the piano and glanced at the clock.

"Well, as soon as Finn gets here, we'll get started. Until then, you girls can just relax," he assured them, smiling.

And that was when it happened. Every last bit of control he'd thought he had over his life was gone in an instant. He didn't know what it was at first, because it just seemed so simple. All Quinn did was shut her phone and slip it in her backpack. Nothing earth-shattering. But then she said it, and that's when it was over.

"Finn's not coming," she informed him flatly.

Will could only stare at her, his throat drying up. There was no way that was possible. Life was unfair, but it wasn't _that_ unfair. It would've been bad with the three of them singing together, yes, but…now they couldn't sing at all. Sue had won.

Quinn was looking at him like he had three heads. She even deigned to exchange a disturbed glance with Rachel, who seemed to share her opinion.

"Mr. Schuester, are you okay?" the brunette asked after another moment of silence.

He choked on his words before they got out, "He…he's what?"

"Not. Coming," Quinn repeated, frowning. "He has the flu."

"He does?" Rachel demanded, alarmed. "He just said he was sick in his text. Is he okay?"

"He has the flu," she said again, more irritably this time. "How do you think he is?"

The diva glared, and Will was too far in shock to even attempt to prevent the impending argument.

"I realize the implications of having a flu," she snapped back. "I was merely inquiring as to _how_ well he is, taking into consideration the fact that he's sick. For instance, is he vomiting? If he's already gotten through that stage, then we can hope to see him soon, but if he hasn't, then he'll probably be a lot worse before he gets better and we shouldn't expect him to return to school possibly well into next week. I—"

"Oh, my God, do you _ever_ stop talking, Urkel?" Quinn groaned through her teeth.

"Just because I'm well-versed in the English language and express myself in—"

The cheerleader feigned sleeping.

"Okay, both of you, stop!" Will blurted at last, rubbing his face.

They both snapped to attention. Sort of. They still shot each other the odd glare, but mostly they were looking at him.

"If Finn isn't coming…." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Then we can't do the number."

Rachel gasped. "Why not?"

"Because Sue somehow convinced Brittany and Puck that they aren't being treated fairly—" Rachel glowered at Quinn, who pretended she didn't notice "—and I was going to spend today running over new choreography that would accommodate the three of you. But without our male lead, we can't rehearse at all, which means we won't be ready in time to do it."

"Can't we just do a new song?" Quinn asked, scowling.

"It'll never be ready in time," he said, shaking his head.

Rachel looked heartbroken, and Will felt a pang of sympathy for her. They'd both really been looking forward to doing this song—and to besting Sue at last—and now there was no possible way to do it. Quinn didn't seem to agree with this bleak outlook.

"So…why can't we just do it?" she inquired, confused.

"Well, it's a duet," he replied, frowning. "It would kind of lose its punch if only the female lead sang it." Rachel was nodding in agreement.

"I have a voice," Quinn snapped, and when his brow furrowed, she said, "Duet means two people. There are two people sitting right here, both of whom can sing."

Will glanced at Rachel, who was frowning at Quinn.

"Well, Quinn, it's a male part," he said uncomfortably.

That was a mistake. The cheerleader bristled and her eyes narrowed on him, and her voice was low when she spoke.

"You think because I'm a girl I can't sing it?"

He swallowed. "I-it's not that I think you aren't capable of singing it, Quinn. It's just that it's a…it's a part for a guy, and you're definitely not one."

"Great, so now you're being sexist!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up.

"That's not what I meant! I just don't think you would be comfortable singing such a—"

"Don't tell me what I'd be comfortable with!"

Will abruptly decided that the pregnancy hormones must be making an appearance, because he just couldn't see Quinn lashing out so irrationally and fighting so hard to sing this song with Rachel otherwise. She could hardly stand being in the same room with her—just look at the way they were sitting when he came in.

"I'm sorry. I'm just thinking about how you feel, that's all. And this is a very romantic song, Quinn. I just think it's best to have a male in the male lead."

Quinn looked ready to explode. "Oh, really?" she growled.

Rachel was staring wide-eyed at her, but she didn't break the silence. Quinn suddenly shot to her feet, glaring boldly at Will.

"Fine!" She slung her backpack over her shoulder and marched toward the door, but first she snatched Rachel's wrist and yanked her into a standing position, grumbling all the while, "Fine. We'll see. Come on, Rachel."

And then she stormed out. Rachel stood there staring after her, and Will shared in her shock. He shrugged helplessly when she looked to him for guidance, because he really didn't know what to do either.

"BERRY, HERE. _NOW_!" they heard, and Rachel grabbed her backpack and bolted for the door, tripping over her feet in her hurry to obey.

Will stared after them, completely dumbfounded.

XXXXXX

With the exception of their argument yesterday, Rachel had never seen Quinn this angry. Not in person, anyway. She'd heard tales of Quinn's wrath a time or two, but usually the cheerleader was cool as a cucumber. She'd get irritated, sure. Roll her eyes, definitely. But she never got _angry_. Evidently the feminist issue was a touchy one with her.

Frankly, after Quinn said the thing about Mr. Schue being sexist, Rachel expected her to use it as an excuse to move them to Ms. Sylvester's group, too. Now she wasn't sure _what_ Quinn was going to do, and it was a little scary. She kept muttering angrily under her breath and all of her movements were jerky, and Rachel practically had to run to keep up with her as they left the building. She wouldn't have bothered, except that Quinn kept glancing over her shoulder, as though to make sure she was still there. And Rachel had a feeling she didn't want to ditch Quinn when she was hell bent on storming out with her. No matter how weird it was.

When they made it to Quinn's car, the cheerleader unlocked it and threw her backpack in the backseat before she went to get in. Rachel wasn't sure what she was supposed to do at this juncture. Getting in the car seemed like a bad idea. For one thing, if Rachel even tried to talk to her in the hallway, she would have a slushie facial to look forward to. Who knew what Quinn would do if she dared to get in her car? And second, it didn't seem like such a good idea to get in a car with someone who was clearly so pissed off. But, on the other hand, Quinn seemed to want her to follow. And Rachel did not want to tangle with her right now.

So Rachel just stood there awkwardly until Quinn noticed, and then the blonde narrowed her eyes and barked, "Get in."

She fumbled with the car door and plopped in the seat, strapping herself in immediately when the cheerleader did. She tossed her backpack to the floor in front of her and then the car jerked forward and Quinn peeled out of the parking lot. Rachel gripped her seat so tight her knuckles were going white, but the cheerleader either didn't notice or didn't care that she was being a little reckless and crazy.

Rachel briefly wondered if that's what happened back there. Had Mr. Schuester not wanting Quinn to sing the part made her snap? It would make sense for her to have a nervous breakdown. She was pregnant and couldn't tell her coach or her parents. Her life was completely out of her control right now, which meant she was under a lot of stress. So maybe she had simply cracked under the pressure. It was understandable.

Or maybe it was the pregnancy hormones. She wasn't that far along in her pregnancy, but it was quite possible they were starting to drive her a little batty.

Either way, Rachel was extremely uncomfortable. And she wasn't sure Quinn should be driving while under the influence of insanity or hormones. Rachel gripped the seat a little tighter and glanced at the cheerleader, who was focused intently on the road ahead.

"Quinn, may I be frank with you?" she asked nervously.

She shot her a withering glare. "When aren't you?"

"Valid point," she allowed, then cleared her throat. "You're kind of scaring me right now."

Quinn scoffed. That was the extent of her reaction. Rachel swallowed.

"Where are we going? And please tell me there are no dumpsters involved. I'd rather not—" she yelped when the car swerved and Quinn jerked it to a stop in the driveway of a perfect little suburban house.

Rachel clung to her door, but the cheerleader was already moving. She whipped her seatbelt off, shut off the engine, and snatched her backpack before she hopped out of the car. The brunette figured she should at least try to keep up, so she scrambled to do the same, and Quinn hit the automatic locker when she heard the door slam. Rachel trotted to catch up to her.

"What are we doing? What's—"

Quinn snatched her wrist again and snarled, "We're doing the damn song."

And she proceeded to drag a shell-shocked Rachel into her house.


	2. No Way

**A/N:** Okay, so the whole sufficient interest thing got fulfilled. :P Hope you like, and sorry for the delayed updates.

**No Way**

Quinn was sick of it. No, nothing in specific, really. Just it. Everything. Life.

She was sick of coming home to two parents already halfway to passed out drunk on the couch in the living room. Sick of being lectured by those same parents about the Christian way to live; as though they knew anything about it, the lushes. Sick of watching her mother swallow her pride in order to please her father.

She was sick of going to school only to get her head yelled off for the smallest of things by a woman who was convinced Quinn was some miniature version of her and therefore should be perfect at all times. Sick of taking care of Finn because he couldn't do the job himself. Sick of watching that very same boy of hers prancing around making mooneyes at a midget.

But most of all, she was sick of what one little mistake had done to her life. The one growing inside her had changed everything for her. And she meant _everything_. Because all of the above she had been dealing with for years without a problem. Suddenly Noah Puckerman comes along in all his smooth talking, alcohol carrying glory and everything is changed. Her perspective is flipped, and she's sick of everything.

Which was okay, as long as she had routine and control. She could loathe every second of her life and it would be all right, as long as she was expecting it. Again, Baby Pucker—ew, she couldn't even say that. Baby Hudson…but not really. Baby Fabray had to mix everything up.

At home, she was constantly paranoid that her parents would discover her, um, situation. She'd moved the ultrasound picture at least five times in the last two days, always convinced that the next hiding place was far superior to the last. She'd also gotten a ticket for speeding the other day, trying to make it home to get the mail before her mother. She never knew when the next doctor's bill would come, so she had to make a point of getting home first. She'd just been lucky there was no bill the day the cop pulled her over.

To make things even better, her father was now extremely suspicious of her relationship with Finn, because every time she had to go to the doctor (which was a lot), she excused herself by saying she was going on a date with her boyfriend. Quinn couldn't even use Santana or Brittany as an excuse because, ever since they found out she was pregnant, they'd been avoiding her like they thought they could catch it or something. Brittany probably did think that, actually.

Coach Sylvester had practically taken over her position as head cheerleader because her leg wiggled _once_ last week. Because it just wasn't enough that she already controlled every other facet of Quinn's life. Every second that wasn't taken up for school was spent on some Cheerios duty, and she used to sincerely enjoy it. Now it was just an added, unnecessary stress that she did not need on top of being pregnant.

So, bearing all this in mind, it wasn't that big of a surprise when Quinn blew up at Mr. Schuester for refusing to let her sing a part just because it was written for a guy. She was stressed, she was angry, and she was absolutely sick of everyone else trying to control her life and tell her what she had to do. Be a good girl, go to school, get good grades, do whatever it takes to get to the top, don't drink and drive, tease but don't please, smoking kills—ad nauseum. And it made her want to scream.

So she kind of did.

"Quinn, I believe the proper pop culture reference in this situation is 'I've got a bad feeling about this.'"

And signed herself up for an entire evening of _Man Hands_. On second thought, what had she been thinking blowing up at Schuester like that? She didn't want to sing with IT! She was obnoxious and bossy and…small. Very small. She was like a boyfriend-stealing pixie.

_No. This is just another obstacle. _You_ are taking control. No one else._ Quinn nodded absently to herself, releasing the midget's wrist in lieu of unlacing her tennis shoes. Because God forbid she walked on her mother's off-white carpet in her dirty, dirty (pristine white under the watchful eye of Sue Sylvester) cheer shoes.

Off-white was a horrible choice, in Quinn's personal opinion, particularly with how much her parents drank and subsequently spilled. She felt bad for their maid, who was usually the one left to clean up the mess to impress her father's next dinner party for colleagues or church members.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Berry was saying, hugging her arms around herself and looking anxiously around what the cheerleader liked to think of as the 'show living room.'

The ceiling was vaulted and it was furnished with white furniture (a couch, a loveseat, and her dad's armchair) and oak tables with glass tops (a coffee/scotch table, two end tables holding lamps at each end of the couch, one end table by the armchair with a bible placed strategically at the edge, the ribbon holding the page hanging off the end) that were cleaned to an obnoxious sheen, and several family photos littered the room. Every single photo held all four Fabrays, a fake but dazzling smile plastered to each and every face, not a one of them in casual clothing.

Quinn wanted to cringe at the sight, because it was all so formal and fake, just like the rest of her family life. It was almost embarrassing to have Berry see it. But then, having Rachel Berry at her house in general was basically the definition of mortifying. What had she been thinking, again?

Oh, right, control.

At least the Yeti looked just as uncomfortable as Quinn felt every time she entered this room. It felt like a museum, and not a lot of people picked up on that. Berry, however, looked like she wanted to whisper every single syllable, and the way she was hugging herself was very telling.

"Quinn? This isn't a good idea," Berry said again, at last focusing her gaze solely on the cheerleader, who rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I heard you the first million times you said it," she retorted sharply. "But I don't recall asking for your opinion, so shoes off, Yentl."

At first, she thought the dwarf might actually obey. She hesitated, glancing down at those awful Mary Janes she was always sporting, but then she steeled herself. Her spine stiffened, raising her to her full height (which wasn't much, but still), and smacked her heels together. Her brown eyes narrowed and flashed with anger, and Quinn tried not to let herself feel that strange thing she had when they argued before and Berry's eyes did that. But it was there again, tugging at her, and she folded her arms defensively, swallowing down the weird sensation.

"As you yourself pointed out, _Quinn_, this song is a duet which means two people partake in it," she said thinly, raising her chin in that irritatingly defiant way. "If you expect me to do my part, I suggest you present a better case for why I should even consider working with someone who regards me with such disrespect, rather than simply expecting me to leap to do your bidding like one of your flunkies. If you can't do that, then I'll be on my way."

Quinn tried not to let her jaw drop. She wasn't used to people standing up to her that way. One of the many things that irked her about the little twerp—she wasn't afraid to in the least. But damn, the midget had a point. But this wouldn't be that hard. Berry was desperate; she would leap at any opportunity to showcase her talent (at least it was big enough to go with her head), even if it meant working with someone who loathed her very existence.

"You want to do the song, right?" she said, not belying her inner uncertainty. "I'm giving you a way. Take it."

"Not good enough," Berry said simply, and turned on her heel.

Quinn panicked. Of all the obstacles she'd considered, the dwarf not agreeing to it was not one of them. Now she had to _convince_ her to sing with her? Had she stepped into an alternate universe? Any other time, the roles would absolutely be reversed. Now the head cheerleader had to basically _beg_ the biggest freak in school to agree to sing with her? Had her pregnancy really made her so undesirable that even the Slushie Queen wouldn't spend an evening with her? This was humiliating.

Nonetheless, she snatched the hobbit's elbow and wheeled her around—still keeping her shoe-covered feet safely on the tiles for the time being.

"All right, fine. Tell me why this isn't a good idea, and I'll…argue my case," she grumbled begrudgingly.

Berry practically glowed with triumph and Quinn fought the urge to grab the nearest lamp and throw it at her. After all, if she was unconscious, she couldn't sing. Besides, she hated to think of the fit her parents would have. And she really didn't want to make the maid clean up more than she had to in this house.

"Well, setting aside the logistics for now, as Mr. Schuester was trying to tell you, this is a tremendously romantic song which you would be singing with me, a girl—whether you would like to acknowledge that I am or not. Even forgetting that this is a number that may be used at Sectionals where there would be hundreds of people to watch us, we would be performing it in front of our fellow glee club members, who aren't particularly good at keeping their mouths closed," she replied pointedly, raising her eyebrows at the end.

Quinn blinked. "What's your point?"

The midget heaved a dramatic sigh and tossed her hair, which was _not_ eye-catching in the least.

"If we sing this, people are going to think we're gay," she explained, as if to a two-year-old, before picking up the pace when she continued, "which I personally have no problem with, but I know for a fact that you would, considering your religion's stance on my parentage."

_I don't care that your dads are gay._ It was on the tip of her tongue. Quinn had to bite it in order to keep it from coming out, because if it did, Man Hands might think she like…liked her a little more than she actually did. Which was not at all. She detested the girl, not her parents.

It was her father who had the problem with gay people, actually. Quinn was of the mindset that if she didn't have to see it, it was fine with her (Brittany and Santana did not understand this rule of hers at all). Which went for straight people as well, actually. The couples at school who deemed it necessary to participate in foreplay in the middle of the cafeteria had always disgusted her. It was never more tempting to slushie someone than it was at those moments.

She shrugged lightly. "A little rumor that'll be squashed under the heel of my big _whale_ stomach as soon as it appears."

Berry was momentarily silenced by her surprise, but recovered in record time. Quinn was mildly impressed, but the feeling went away as soon as the dwarf opened her mouth and started squawking again. Then the irritation was back.

"Regardless, you'll still be singing the song with _me_," Stubbles emphasized, placing her hands on her hips as though to showcase her point. "You've made no secret of the fact that you absolutely loathe me, which directly contradicts the message of this song. You will have to set aside your deep-seated disgust with my very existence and convince a roomful of people who know the truth that you are hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with and can't imagine your life without me." She paused. Probably for purposes of dramatics, Quinn thought. "Do you think you can pull that off?"

"Can you?" she shot back, a sneer tugging at her lips.

To her surprise, Berry wasn't fazed. She simply raised her chin and said, quietly, "I've already told you I don't hate you, Quinn."

This did _not_ make Quinn feel warm in the middle of her chest at all. She was not about to smile, and if it looked like she was, it was because baby hormones were making her crazy.

She scoffed. "Whatever. Aren't you the one who's always going on about 'living truthfully in the moment' when you sing a song? It's not like I really have to like you, I just—"

"You were listening?" Berry inquired suddenly, sounding like a five-year-old girl who had just been told that Santa Claus was coming early this year.

Or…wasn't Berry Jewish? Okay, like the Jewish Santa was bringing her a menorah. Quinn shook her head and tried not to blush, both at her thoughts and at Treasure Trail's question. Baby hormones, ugh.

"Whatever. I'm sure Finn has everything you've ever said memorized," she growled, rolling her eyes.

The brightness of Berry's eyes faded and that little smile that had been threatening to burst into the hundred megawatt Rachel Berry beam dove back into hiding, leaving a solemn frown on her pouting pink lips.

"Actually, no," she replied softly. "In fact, he doesn't seem to listen very much at all when I talk."

That was a dumb thing to tell Quinn. It was something she could use to her advantage in so many ways. She could slap a vicious insult her way this very instant and crush her. But instead she found herself softening, even if it was only the tiniest bit. Only because she sympathized, of course.

"Yeah, to me, either. I think it's a high school boy thing," she mumbled halfheartedly, and Berry's eyes got so bright she wished she were wearing sunglasses. "What else?" she barked, hoping to regain her superior ground and get that warming smile off her.

"Wha—oh!" Berry cleared her throat, ducking her head for a few brief moments as she gathered herself. "I'd hoped I wouldn't have to bring this up, but there is the very important factor that we simply don't have chemistry. I can't—"

Quinn was suddenly livid. She rounded on the midget, eyes ablaze and growl already present in her throat.

"What?" she snapped. "You think _we_ don't have chemistry?"

Brown eyes had gone wide, and the blonde was almost proud to see her leaning back a little in trepidation. A few consonants tripped out of her plump lips before she managed to get out, "You _do_?"

She rolled her eyes, throwing up her hands. "Well, yeah! We argue _all_ the time!"

This time it was Berry rolling her eyes, and Quinn blinked in surprise at that before the midget folded her arms and began calmly, "Okay, first of all, defending oneself from relentless daily attacks hardly counts as arguing."

The blonde rolled her eyes and folded her arms again, pursing her lips when the brunette scowled at her with a look that said, 'Are you done?'.

"Second, regardless of what Hollywood would have us believe, the chemistry of true love does not sprout from constant bickering. Two people who truly love one another do not spend all their time aggravating each other for no good reason." She paused, then rolled her eyes. "Unless they're a five-year-old boy. Banter is one thing; that actually does create the perfect blend of playfulness and sexual tension. Arguing is entirely different; it implies a conflict with the other person, a desire to change them, and it does not make chemistry, it makes hatred."

Berry took a deep breath, holding up a hand to indicate she had more to say, and Quinn tapped her foot impatiently while the diva gathered her thoughts for what felt like the hundredth time today. They were wasting precious time that could've been spent rehearsing, after all, because whether Berry liked it or not, they _did_ have chemistry.

She was startled from her thoughts when Berry pinned her with her intense chocolate gaze and said, "Third, even if we did have the smallest shred of chemistry, it isn't what works for this song. This song isn't about clashing personalities or the social hierarchy, Quinn. It's about passion of the deepest, most powerful kind. It's about an electric, overwhelming love that sweeps you off your feet, makes you weak at the knees, and _steals_ your breath away. A connection to another person that is so deep you can feel your hearts beat together, your souls touch, and every breath you take is for that person. You live for them, you'd die for them—do anything for them if it meant that they would be happy, because that's all that matters in your world."

Rachel Berry was a dramatic person. Quinn knew this, witnessed it a hundred times, and yet somehow she wasn't prepared for this. That tugging sensation that had made itself known a couple times already was now tightening something low in her abdomen and sending electric tingles shooting up and down her arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Her throat had dried, making words impossible, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the brown inferno in front of her for anything. She was fairly certain a bomb could've gone off and she wouldn't have been able to rip her gaze off of those hypnotizing eyes.

The shorter girl took another breath at long last and said, "I honestly don't believe we have the chemistry to make the audience feel that."

Finally! Words were possible again. Quinn scoffed and sneered at the same time and said, proud of herself, "And you and Finn do?"

She was expecting Rachel to immediately leap to the defense of her relationship with Finn and claim they had some deep connection that Quinn could never understand or something ridiculous like that. She did _not_ expect the midget to hesitate and avoid her eyes, and after the blonde recovered from the shock of that reaction, she smirked, because she could use this.

"Take your shoes off," she ordered, gesturing to the mat on which she had set her tennis shoes earlier.

Berry's eyes shot to hers and her brow furrowed. "But we haven't—"

"I know. I'd just like to show you something," Quinn said persuasively, smiling a little to milk the charm factor.

The diva blushed. _Blushed_. She was doing all kinds of unexpected things tonight. She also did not look cute when she blushed.

Berry carefully toed off her shoes next to Quinn's, and the cheerleader instantaneously snatched her wrist and dragged her through the living room. No, it wasn't really necessary to do this, but she rather liked steering the normally domineering little midget around. Besides, she'd probably want to look around and they simply didn't have time for that.

"Don't touch anything," she snapped over her shoulder.

There was no need to tell Berry that she only said this because her mother would literally have a hairy conniption if she found out there were fingerprints on her things, and not because she didn't want Man Hands's germs infecting her house. Quinn sometimes pondered introducing her mom to Ms. Pillsbury. She usually ended up deciding that that much germaphobia in one room might be one of the signs of the apocalypse, and she didn't want to be responsible for that.

She tugged the brunette up the stairs and whipped the door to her bedroom open, feeling a breath of relief escape her, as it always did when she arrived in her only refuge in this house. She released Berry's wrist and tossed her backpack to the end of her bed, marching determinedly to her laptop and whipping it open. Her fingernails drummed the oak of her desk as she waited for it to load, and then she opened Firefox, navigating to YouTube. It would have to do for now, because she needed to get Berry good and convinced and soon.

While the karaoke version loaded, Quinn turned on her heel and faced the diva, who was clutching the straps of her backpack while she scanned the room with interest, gaze lingering on the montage of photos cluttering a corkboard. She could only assume the midget was looking at the pictures of the blonde and Finn, because she looked away hurriedly when she was finished, a guilty frown on her face.

"Do you have your music?" she asked harshly, and Berry jumped before nodding. "Get it out."

She swung her backpack off her shoulder and set it gently next to her feet as she fished out a rainbow binder—Quinn rolled her eyes—and whipped out a copy of the sheet music. The blonde snatched it from her—she _knew_ the girl had this memorized by now—and stepped over to her laptop, clearing her throat a couple times in preparation before she clicked play. The music started up and she stepped back to Berry, standing across from her with an expectant scowl.

Brown eyes went wide. "But I haven't warmed up proper—"

"This isn't a performance, Stubbles. Just belt it," she growled, rolling her eyes.

Berry promptly huffed and clenched her jaw angrily, tossing her hair in that very non-eye-catching way, but she sang her opening lines. With absolutely no intonation, just flat singing. Quinn practically fumed at her, but she held back, because the song was coming around to her part and she was going to prove to that little twit that they had chemistry, once and for all.

When she finished singing, the dwarf folded her arms and raised an almost challenging brow at the blonde, who took it to fuel herself and started cooing her lines. But instead of looking at the music, she met Berry's eyes dead on, singing just to her and isolating them from everything else in the room. She put as much of that anger into the words as she could, but transformed it into intensity, and when her part was finished, she raised a challenging brow right back at the now contemplative-looking brunette.

Berry proceeded to belt her next lines, emotion reentering her voice and captivating the cheerleader across from her. The air seemed to turn electric, and Quinn felt her feet dragging her closer to the brunette as they sang to one another, wrapped up in burning chocolate eyes and an angel's voice. Their voices joined together and that electricity seemed to take on a life of its own, crackling between them and energizing their voices as they rose together, and by the time they finished the first chorus, they had almost eclipsed the distance between them and the sheet music was completely forgotten. They'd narrowed their focus down to each other, and it was working splendidly, how completely lost in each other's eyes they were.

Which was why Quinn was startled when Rachel waved her hands, gesturing for her to stop the music. She started and then hurried to her laptop, pausing the track before turning back with a questioning frown.

"That was good, but you're too angry," the diva coached authoritatively, putting a smirk on the head cheerleader's face. "Keep the intensity, but remember what I said. This isn't a battle; this is desperation. Love, not hate."

Quinn nodded sharply. "Fine."

"And we need to do something about the music," she pondered, stroking her chin thoughtfully.

A blonde eyebrow popped up. "Why?"

"Because, like Mr. Schuester said, the part is written for a male. You don't have the range to—"

"Would you stop insulting my voice?" she snarled, smacking the sheet music onto her desk. "What is with you and your backhanded compliments? So I go sharp sometimes, do you really have to point it out every damn time?"

Berry waited the tantrum out patiently, watching the fuming blonde before she spoke again, calmly, as though her words hadn't fazed her in the least.

"It's not an insult to state a fact, Quinn. Women and men have different vocal ranges. My pointing this out to you has nothing to do with my opinion of your voice versus Finn's, or any other man's, for that matter. This is why we use different words to describe men and women's voices. A tenor will never be the same as a soprano, nor will a baritone be the same as an alto." She paused, to gauge her reaction, she supposed, and when she only frowned sheepishly, Berry went on, "So, we need to change the key and the notes to fit your voice. Which brings us back to the logistics of this entire situation."

The brunette rubbed her forehead and Quinn's triumphant smirk flipped to a suspicious scowl. She didn't like the sounds of that.

"What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly, and Berry glanced up at her as she strode across the room, toward the chaise in the corner.

Quinn's stomach jumped into her throat.

"I mean that we have approximately—"

"Don't sit there!" Quinn yelped desperately, and the diva shot straight to her feet in alarm.

The blonde froze. She couldn't tell the truth, but she also couldn't bring herself to be downright vicious. Not after Berry sort of just agreed to work with her on this song. She deserved some kind of reward for doing what she wanted, right? She gulped, caught between a rock and a hard place. She hated that her reaction to this was to freeze like some scared rabbit in the middle of the road.

Now that the brunette had calmed down, her eyebrows were knit in confusion, and she kept glancing between the chaise and Quinn.

"Why not?" she asked curiously, cautiously.

_Truth or maliciousness?_ "Because I don't want your germs on my stuff." _Of course._

Berry's eyes went cold and her jaw tight, and Quinn was, for the briefest of moments, apprehensive of what she might do, or say. The spine went stiff and, without further ado, the diva marched to her backpack, zipped it back up around the rainbow binder she'd stuffed back in, and walked out the door while she slung it over her shoulder.

Quinn did what she did the last time the midget threatened to leave. She panicked, and took off after her.

"Berry, wait!" she called, tone layered with regret and uncertainty. She didn't bother covering it up.

"No," was the only response she received.

"Would you at least let me apologize?" she growled, and _that_ caught the singer's attention.

She'd just hit the landing and there she stopped, turning sharply on her heel and narrowing her eyes up at Quinn, who stopped where she was about halfway.

"By 'apologize'—" and she even used air quotes "—do you by any chance mean the following: slushie, throw in dumpster, push down stairs, further ins—"

She flinched almost every other word before she groaned her frustration and blurted, "I'm sorry, okay? I am. I just…you just can't sit there. You can touch anything else in my room, sit anywhere you want. Just not there. I just can't let you." _Sit where I got pregnant._

Berry was still frowning. "Apology accepted," she said shortly, and then turned around again.

"Wait, so that's what I get? I apologize for treating you like shit and you're still leaving?" Quinn barked. "Screw that."

The diva arched a brow at her. "Do I have any reason to stay? Yes, you proved we have…_amazing_ chemistry. But I can't work with you. Not if you're going to continually insult me and not when you're this angry."

"Fine. I won't insult you and I'll calm down, okay?" she snapped, and Berry choked out a laugh.

"You're definitely inspiring confidence here, Quinn." She smirked, then shook her head. "Why are you so angry?"

She rolled her eyes. "Have you seen my life lately? It's not exactly the poster for happiness."

Rachel softened visibly, and Quinn tried not to let the concern swirling in brown eyes get to her. The brunette stepped closer, placing a brave hand on the banister and peering up at the blonde with sympathy written all over her very _not_ pretty face. Not pity. Pure sympathy. She tried not to let it get to her.

"This much stress isn't good for you or the baby," she said gently, just loud enough for Quinn to hear.

She nodded her acknowledgement, refusing to meet her eyes. "I know."

The shorter girl took a deep breath. "Why don't you let me help you? There's this energy treatment my dads used to practice—I don't remember the name—but it's supposed to cleanse your aura or something like that."

Quinn scoffed. "I don't believe in that stuff."

She lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. "Doesn't matter. It's still relaxing, or at least I found it to be. And anything is worth a try if it might help, right?"

The blonde eyed her warily. "Why do you care so much?" The singer opened her mouth to reply, but she cut her off with a growled, "This isn't another ridiculous attempt at getting into Finn's good graces, is it?"

Rachel didn't look at all surprised. She simply smiled softly and said plainly, "No. This is for you."

That didn't make Quinn feel warm in the middle of her chest, either. And that smile that was supposedly about to lift her lips? Twitch. She had a nervous tic. Nothing to be worried about.

"Fine," she grumbled, and Berry finally made her way back up the stairs, following along behind Quinn back into the bedroom.

The diva pulled out Quinn's computer chair after setting her backpack on the bed next to the blonde's, apparently taking her earlier words to heart, and gestured for the cheerleader to sit down. She grumbled to herself the entire time, of course, but she obeyed, sitting back and waiting for this stupid energy therapy thing to start. She was expecting some kind of chant or something while Berry 'cleansed' the air around her—something stupid that wouldn't make her feel any better.

So she was kind of startled when Rachel stepped around directly in front of her and reached to touch her face. It showed, since she jolted backward in her chair and stared wide-eyed at the other girl.

"What are you doing?" she asked, almost grimacing when she heard her voice waver.

The brunette smiled, her amusement obvious. "Relax. I'm not coming onto you or anything; this is just how it's done."

"Oh." Why did she sound disappointed? She wasn't, after all.

This time when the singer reached to place her hands on Quinn's cheeks, she didn't move, and instead blinked in surprise at how soft the hands she'd made fun of so many times were. She was swiping her thumbs firmly across the blonde's cheekbones, massaging the muscles there, while the cheerleader examined her. She was a little uncomfortable with the lack of eye contact—Rachel had her eyes focused intently on what she was doing.

She guessed it must have showed, because the brunette said quietly, "You can close your eyes if you like."

She fought the urge to nod, not wanting a thumb in the eye, and instead just mumbled, "okay," while letting her eyelids slide shut. It magnified the feeling of the singer's touch, and she was surprised to find it felt…good. Her hands were so soft and gentle, but at the same time, they did their job rubbing the tension out of her muscles, and she lost track of where the soothing touch was going. She knew there was a pattern, but she couldn't follow it when she was relishing in the feeling of her muscles releasing for the first time in _so_ long.

Rachel's body heat was creating such a warm blanket for her to relax in, too, she thought, and she felt herself slide down in the chair a little, bumping into the other girl's thighs with her knees. She thought she heard a muffled giggle come from the brunette, but couldn't really bring herself to reprimand her when she was rubbing out the serious knot that had formed in her jaw.

"So, can I ask you something?" the singer asked eventually, and her voice was so quiet…pleasant.

Quinn shrugged. "Sure."

"Why did you want to sing this song with me so badly?"

"Because Mr. Schuester didn't want me to," she said, and she was mildly surprised at how quickly the truth came tumbling out of her mouth. It was definitely the state of utter relaxation Rachel's hands and warmth had put her in. "And I'm sick of everyone telling me what to do. My life is out of my control enough. I just wanted to do something because I wanted to."

"Makes sense," Rachel said understandingly, and her hands had moved to rub out the tension in the crown of her head, which sincerely needed it with how tight that ponytail had to be.

"Why do you like Finn?" she asked, and wondered distantly why her voice sounded so small.

"Same reasons as you, I suppose," she replied nonchalantly. "He's honest, loyal, popular. Cute. But I probably wouldn't have been nearly as…enthusiastic about him had he been a poor singer, or if we'd had less chemistry."

Quinn felt a smirk curve her lips upward. "So does this mean you're going to crush on me now?"

Rachel laughed, and the tingling and tightening was back at hearing the musical sound from her pink lips.

"Well, while we do have magnificent chemistry and you _are_ popular and beautiful—" Quinn's breath hitched, but the brunette appeared not to notice "—there's a rather large difference between you and Finn that's hard to overlook."

"What? You only like freakishly tall, not pregnant people?" the blonde quipped, and again the singer laughed.

"No, that's not quite it," she teased, and the cheerleader smiled easily.

She sobered when she said, again with that disappointed tone, "I'm not a guy."

Rachel didn't answer right away, and Quinn was ready to open her eyes and question her when she said slowly, "No, that's not it, either."

She frowned. "Then what is it?"

"Finn doesn't hate me."

The peaceful feeling she'd had from the massage suddenly left, leaving an acidic ache in her stomach that wouldn't go away, even as Rachel's gentle touch continued rubbing away her tension. She gradually sat up, gently taking one of the brunette's arms and guiding her hand away as she woke from the relaxed state the singer had put her in. She stepped back, bending a bit to catch her eyes.

"Good?" she prompted, and Quinn nodded.

"Yeah, good. Though I think that's what people call a 'massage' these days," she said, half-playfully, and Rachel laughed. "Could be wrong."

"Well, I couldn't imagine you being so agreeable if I had told you I was going to put my hands all over you," she teased back, winking, and Quinn felt a rush of heat spike straight through her. Why was it so damn hot in there? "My dads and I did used to take a workshop on it, though, so that part was true. And you have to admit, you do seem more relaxed."

She bobbed her head, trying to slow her breathing, which was suddenly coming in quick pants and why was she staring at Berry's hands? That could stop any time now.

"Yeah. Thank you." She swallowed, ignoring the brunette's wide-eyed look at actually being shown _gratitude_, and cleared her throat. "So what were you going to say before? About the 'logistics.'"

Berry sighed heavily and took a seat on the end of her bed, scooting her backpack to the side. "We have until Thursday at three pm to do this. It's almost five now. That means we have approximately fifteen hours—if we get to bed at ten, skip lunch for the next two days, and take an hour before school both days—to pull together a number that is ready for the rest of glee and Coach Sylvester to see.

"I've already had time to memorize and get the mechanics of the song down, but we'll need brand new choreography because it's just going to be you and me on stage, and your section of the song has to be worked. You may have it memorized, but to get the mechanics down, I'm going to have to transpose your music, and I'm no expert. Brad would be able to do it much quicker than I can. Then we have to pound out your part of the song, coordinate our parts, and come up with choreography that we'll then have to rehearse in conjunction with the music.

"You know all this, because we've done it a million times in glee—in a couple weeks or so. We have less than a day to do this, Quinn. It's highly improbable that we'll have something presentable by the time Thursday rolls around."

The blonde scowled. This wasn't the Rachel Berry she knew. The Berry she knew defied all odds, refused to accept no for an answer, and got the job done. She wasn't afraid of obstacles; hell, she ate adversity for breakfast. And really, with Quinn Fabray, Head Bitch of the Cheerios, at her side? She wouldn't be surprised if Father Time decided to hide under his bed for fear of rousing the wrath of the two of them.

Quinn cleared her throat and stood, eyeing the brunette with an arched brow. "Am I really hearing Rachel Berry back down from a challenge?"

She frowned immediately. "That's not what I said. I—"

"I thought you were all about sunshine and optimism, Berry. Also angels," she added, smirking. "So what is with the defeatist attitude? Don't think you can pull it off?"

A flash of anger entered Rachel's eyes at that taunting tone and Quinn fought a grin as something tightened in her abdomen again. The brunette stood, throwing her shoulders back and straightening her spine, and held out an expectant hand.

"Sheet music, please."


End file.
